


Nathaniel Will Handle It

by CriticalCXGShipped



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Backstory, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 15:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14475195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CriticalCXGShipped/pseuds/CriticalCXGShipped
Summary: I got to thinking about why Nathaniel allows himself to be drawn into shady deals by Rebecca and then that got me thinking about why he wasn't shocked by anything in her medical files.  Where did Nathaniel develop such morally relativistic views?  Was it while he worked for his toxic father at the law firm?  Also why did The Plimptons acquire Darryl's firm and Rebecca's legal acumen?





	Nathaniel Will Handle It

Nathaniel Will Handle It

"How hard would it be to lose that evidence, son?" Nathaniel Plimpton 2nd asked, his gnarled hands flipping through depositions, police reports and other files for their case against a plaintive who claimed that she had been molested by their defendant. He was standing next to Nathaniel, having come in the door behind him. 

"Lose…what?" Nathaniel's stomach clenched, but he kept his face flat and neutral, despite the desire to curl his lip in horror and disgust. The plaintive had clearly been assaulted by the defendant according to witnesses, in the file he had corroborating evidence that she wasn't the first. 

"I mean, things get lost, Nathaniel Jnr, they get lost all the time" His father's eyes became disturbingly friendly. He didn't think he had looked him in the eyes with this much of a smile since, well, maybe when he graduated and his eyes had crinkled slightly while he clapped politely. "You've only been in the firm for a few years, Nathaniel, you're trying so hard, but, look, we all make mistakes", he winked at Nathaniel, picked up the file and dropped it in the metal wastepaper basket to the left side of the room.

They were alone in the office, Nathaniel had stayed late, thinking he would memorise the case files so as to prep the defendant the next day. Then his father had arrived and started a stilted conversation about football, forgetting that Nathaniel didn't watch it. Then, as we went to leave, he made the suggestion, at the doorway, Nathaniel had turned to look over his shoulder at him.

Nathaniel stared at the basket, then looked up at his dad, blinking.  
"I'll help you out there, son" he said, pulling his matches from his pocket, he scratched one along Nathaniel's briefcase and flicked the flaming stick into the basket. "Accidents happen" he said, holding his hands up in the air, leaving the room smoothly while the file caught. 

Nathaniel stood up, should he try and put it out? It would be obvious it had been tampered with now, and the evidence was being licked up by the flames. Although it crossed his mind that he could get another deposition from the witness again, that would cost billable hours and increase the footprint of this whole mess. Nathaniel licked his lips and hesitantly put his leather clad foot in the can before changing his mind. 

"My gym bag!" he remembered suddenly. It was in the right corner, full of sweaty clothes from a training session earlier that day. There was a towel in there. His long legs carried him over to the other side of the room to get it out. His hands fumbled with the zip, it was stuck. He needed to calm down. Taking a deep breath and putting hands to his chest, he felt his heart, hammering inside his suit. Slowly this time, he pulled the zip down, retrieving the damp towel, flinging it across at the can, which was surrounded with a ball of flames. 

Momentarily the flames were dowsed before they flared up again, this time pouring smoke out that climbed towards the ceiling. 

"No!" yelled Nathaniel, haphazardly collecting up the other files into his briefcase. The smoke rose quickly, triggered the smoke detectors which began to beep loudly in protest. He managed to collect them all up before the sprinklers came down in force and ruined everything in the office. 

Later that night, hours after the fire department had come and done their inspection, hours after the police had questioned him about the fire ("I think someone must have been smoking in the office and left a match in the garbage can near my desk"), after calling his client ("all the evidence was retrieved") he dragged himself, dripping, back to his apartment. 

Wearily, he dropped his briefcase on his kitchen table and sat heavily on the dining chair, putting his head in his hands, water seeping into the cushion under him. Slowly, he changed out of his limp, damp suit and into a grey sweatshirt and pants. Slowly, like someone else was occupying his body, he picked up his phone and ordered a pizza, a personal pan pizza, with a stuffed crust. He asked if they delivered beer, they did, they also delivered desert, if he wanted any. He did. Would he like chocolate pudding or lime pie? He didn't care.

He sat numbly, staring at the walls while he waited and when it arrived, he didn't bother with a plate, or sitting at the table. He returned to the couch and ate and drank urgently, bringing slices to his mouth while he breathed and frantically chewed between bites. When the pizza was almost gone, he started eating the dessert, but his stomach was so distended he only managed a few bites. He felt sick at himself, how could he have eaten like that? How could he lose control? 

An overwhelming sense of shame struck him, he was weak, he was pathetic, he had no control to begin with. The tears came and the anguish and he hurled himself at the toilet in the bathroom, cleansing away all the comfort food and flushing away the evidence of his shameful loss of control. 

This shame was easier to deal with than being a patsy for his dad. It wasn't his fault, he hadn't wanted to tamper with the evidence, he hadn't wanted to win this case even, after he read the evidence. What choice did he have now? He should have put out the fire immediately, taken his jacket off and thrown it in there, it was a $1000 suit, but what did that matter, in the face of letting someone get away with assault? Why had he not stood up to his father or turned him in to the police when he was giving his statement. He had broken the law now, lied, destroyed evidence, failed to protect the innocent. 

But then, his father would have taken over the case and buried him in the process and he would have lost even the small shred of dignity he had left. He had to get away from his father's office and away from his control. He wanted to get out of these assault, homicide and divorce cases and move into something less emotional, perhaps property law. 

His father had read something in the paper about a small firm in West Covina and had talked about acquiring it and using it to specialize in property cases. That bright young lawyer had been to Harvard and already had that experience in property. Tomorrow, having taken the proverbial bullet, he would ask to represent him in the acquisition. He would not flinch or look way.  
Now, what was the name of that cute young lawyer who had tried to take on that big Californian water company and gone up against that New York firm? 

Nathaniel splashed his face with cold water, put in his eye drops and brushed his teeth. He looked at his face in the mirror, puffy, but a cleanse or two should take care of that. He threw away the last of the pizza, put the pizza box in the recycling, took the beer and put it down the bottom of the garbage can. He threw the dessert down the garbage disposal and hit the button, it churned loudly. He walked back into his lounge and got out his laptop. 

He sat down on the couch with his laptop and googled "West Covina AND water conspiracy" and the news story came up. His father had been impressed with her. There she was, in her black suit and curly hair, a few more pounds than he liked on a woman, but with a great smile. Bunch, that was her name, Rebecca Bunch. "See you tomorrow" he said to himself, sighing with satisfaction. 


End file.
